Red Rose
by LittleBloodyJ
Summary: All of the other graves have bunches of colourful flowers, flowers of life and flowers of joy but her grave, the freshest grave here,is simple. There are so many graves, so many bodies lying lifeless but she’s the only one that matters right now.


**A/N: H**ey! It's very nearly midnight, I'm in bed with my laptop and look what I typed! Emmm, not what I'd call happy but it's.... Look, please just and give it a chance. Pwetty Please? I own nothing and I bet JK is glad I don't.  
Hope you all enjoy!

* * *

There's a rose next to the headstone, a single, red rose. Her headstone is polished, so shiny a person's face could be reflected off it like a mirror and the letters where her name is engraved seem so deep they might go all the way through. The rose is fresh, as is the earth she is buried under. It's sad really because, there's nobody to mourn her but one person.

She's been dead a few weeks (or so they thought) but they only found her body two days ago. She'd been alive all the time they'd though she was dead and the moment they forgot, she died as if it was merely their memories that had kept her alive. Not everyone forgot, one person did remember her, the person who put the rose on her grave and the person who left the letter she was buried with. Of course people said it was a tragedy, a _waste _but nobody truly loved her apart from the person who left the rose. Red roses signify love, _passion _but to the person who left it the rose is the blood she lost and the love that was left to waist like the rose will without its water. Because she was the water and now the rose is dying. Without the water everything will die and the person who left the rose is already dying- they've been dying since her body was found, her eyes so wide and her lips pressed in a thin line.

A girl who did everything for others, only to be betrayed and unknowingly pushed to her death by those she loved. She was found under a willow tree, in a large lake, her perfect curls floating around her and her black dress also floating, the messy rocks that she'd been standing on when they broke had sunk to the bottom of the lake with her wand. But even when they found her she didn't look like what they said dead people looked like- she didn't look peaceful – she didn't look like she was sleeping- she simply looked _dead_. A butterfly, a red and black butterfly, had been resting on her chest, just above where her un-beating heart lay still. The moment they found her it had fluttered in the air and had fluttered over to the person who would leave the rose, it's little wings using all their strength as it landed on the person's shoulder (near the person's neck) as if ready to whisper something. It just stayed before flying above her body and simply- floating.

Few people turned up to her funeral, not many people where left. Her parents where dead, her two best friends were asked not to show up (they were the reason she's where she is) and nobody else could _face it_. The words engraved on the headstone gave no comfort, nothing said gave anyone comfort. 'A hero' it said, she was a dead hero, is it worth being a hero if you have to die? Is it worth dying to be a hero? Why must one die to be a hero? She was a hero in life, yet she never got a thank you or even noticed. Nobody remembered her birthday, nobody remembered to tell her she _was _worth saving. The one person who would have never did, too scared to loose her as a friend to tell her how her life was the only thing keeping everything from falling apart. Now she's gone and all that is left of her is a body, lying in a white dress with a letter under her hands, her eyes shut and her lips pressed into a thin line. She's gone.

The headstone is black, the words are gray. That's all they are- words. They hold no meaning to the person who left the rose. Why should they? Could they bring her back? Could they show her smile once more? Could they even let her laughter reach the air once more? No, they held no magic, no secret, they were simply empty words chosen by strangers who didn't know her. Nobody ever took the time to get to know her, her so called best friends didn't even know her favourite colour or what was her favourite song or even her favourite flower. Her favourite flowers had always been roses, so it was a rose that was left on her grave.

The air smells of earth and freshly cut grass, the sky is what someone might consider beautiful but not today. Today it's anything but beautiful. There's a figure standing next to the grave, a long black cloak hiding their face and their body, as if hiding from the sun. That might be what they are doing, hiding from the world, wanting to be alone. All of the other graves have bunches of colourful flowers, flowers of life and flowers of joy but her grave (the freshest grave here) her grave is simple. There are so many graves, so many bodies lying lifeless but she's the only one that matters right now. The picture of her is beautiful, just like she was in both life and death. She's simply standing, she didn't notice the picture was being taken; she didn't know or care about anything as she smiled at the person who was distracting her. Her smile was beautiful, honest and kind- pure. Like she was.

There's nobody here today, just the dead and the one living person who stands tall. There's a _whoosh_ of wind and the hood flies back and her red hair flows everywhere as she moves to kneel next to the grave, her hand running over the picture, the last picture taken. She runs her fingers over the letters, tracing each letter and letting the sounds take over her mouth. She can't cry anymore, all she can do is whisper the name of the person she lost. _Hermione Jean Granger_. She was sixteen – sixteen is too young to die. She knows now nothing is fair, good people always cry and people like Hermione are always the ones who are lost. It's anything and everything but fair. She hasn't got any tears left to cry as she gets back to her feet and pulls the hood over her face, as she walks away the black and red butterfly lands on the rose before watching the red-head walk away, just death left behind her and heading towards nothing. Because that's what Ginny has left. Nothing.

* * *

Please Review! It'd make my day!

**Love,  
J.**


End file.
